To Give Up the Mask

To be honest, I'm not doing well today. 

By not doing well, I mean I'm in so much pain that it's literally driving me insane. My head is pounding from a migraine. My body is in so much pain that there isn't a single position into which I can get that lessens my pain. I had to decide between vicodin and ibuprofen, and not waiting to make the migraine worse, chose ibuprofen, hoping it would take the edge off the pounding. No such luck. My liver can't handle any more pain meds, so that's it for the day. 

It's a snow day. A cozy day. A day when my entire family is home. I'd rather be doing awesome things with them than laying in bed in misery. 

And I'd rather be finishing putting away groceries, cleaning up the dining room / kitchen area and getting my son's computer area and my daughter's physical therapy areas set up properly. I'd love to organize my clothing, reorganize homeschool and craft supplies, and otherwise get my house in order. And bake cookies ... or cinnamon rolls. 

I'd love a cinnamon roll right now - that is, if I wasn't in so much pain that I'm nearly overwhelmed with nausea. 

I don't often call attention to what my life is really like. But today I feel I need to. I need to take of the mask of coping well with my illness to say that today sucks. Today I'm scared this illness is going to take over my life even more than it already does - that it's literally going to paralyze me. That I can't take pain like this. It's too much. I need to do it for me and for others like me.

I need to do it, not to whine or complain, but because this is my reality. 

And so I take a shower to relax my muscles, emerging completely drained, as usual (no pun intended). Then I put ice packs on my head and my hip, a hot pack on my back, and escape into sleep for a while, utterly exhausted from too many sleepless nights. Upon waking my headache is bearable. Thank God. While my husband finishes up dinner, I order Jumanji on Amazon and my children and husband clean up the living room enough for a movie night.

After eating, my twelve year old asks if he can climb on my bed with me and snuggle for the rest of the movie. This is possible because my bed is in my living room - the only way possible for me to rest and be engaged with my family at the same time.

Laughter and cuddles help distract me from the incessant pain. It feels comforting to have my entire family in the same room, sharing a few good laughs before dispersing to their own pursuits. 

The pain persists, but so do I. I don't have much choice in the matter. Today is a particularly bad day. I'm sure there will be worse to come. 

And yet the light of hope for better days still burns bright within me. 

Today, I intend...

... to take off my mask of "I'm fine" to better help others understand my struggles - and to help people like me know that they are not alone. 

... to give up my mask of "I'm coping" to remind myself that it's ok to have days when I have difficulty coping - that these days are perhaps more valuable than healthier days because they teach me my limits and new ways to stretch them.

... to remember to breathe, to rest, and to hold onto hope.